


Modern knights

by franny_star



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 15:25:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4630341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/franny_star/pseuds/franny_star





	Modern knights

 

Percival is busy trying to free himself of the zip ties when Lancelot comes to.

"Now this is rather fun. Are you here to keep me company?" he hums, as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

Being locked inside the trunk of a car with Lancelot snuggling behind him was one of the things Percival defined as out of the ordinary. Judging from the sound of waves in the distance they are still at the docks where they were trailing the mob boss. From what he has gathered, the car hasn’t been moving for a while and the men who orchestrated this were not around, but as the car was not equipped with trunk release or release cables, there was no escape route.

Percival relays the information to Lancelot, whose only response is, "All right."

"Is there anything on your side that might help us escape?" Percival asks, but Lancelot is already in motion, fumbling behind him.

"I’m afraid not. Are you okay, Percy? Are you hurt?"

There is a sting in the nape of his neck that spoke of a stun gun, but besides that he was altogether unharmed. "Fortunately, no. You?"

"No, only this massive headache, I believe I have been blindsided. Don’t tell Merlin," the other man sighs.

At the mention of the name, Percival lets out a breath in relief; the bald man must be on his way by now, being a wizard that he is. They will have to hope that it would be before their attackers returned. His wrists were aching from struggling, bound at his back, and Percival closed his eyes. He tried not to shift too much, but Lancelot took notice, being in such close proximity.

"Percy," his voice is laced with doubt. "You’re not claustrophobic, are you? I don’t recall reading it in your files."

"How would you have access to my files? And no, I am not claustrophobic."

It was the darkness he was not entirely fond of, but _that_ was not in his files and he sure was not going to tell this man.

Then suddenly, there is warmth across his back as Lancelot leaned forward, curling himself against Percival’s body. "It’s okay Percy, I’m right here."

"I’m fine," said Percival, touch too quickly. Clearing his throat, he took a deep breath. As much as he hated to admit, the heat of the other man’s body was reassuring, and Percival allowed himself to relax, leaning back just a little.

"It’s okay," murmured Lancelot, and nothing about this was okay, but the taller man was lazily nuzzling his hair and it felt oddly comforting. "I’ll take care of you."

"Gentlemen," came the wizard’s voice from outside. "I hope I don’t regret opening this trunk."

Relief washing over, Percival answers, "We’re alive, Merlin."

"No, I was hoping you were both alive and _dressed_."

 

Being a spy required special set of skills, and being able to make split second decisions were one of the many. Percival, a gentlemen and a spy, took pride in his own ability to do so; he was always prepared for any contingencies that may befall him. Since the humiliating incident at the docks he made sure to go over the plans as many times as possible and be ready for anything. 

What he wasn’t ready for was for Lancelot to leap to his feet and say, "Quick, in here."

And suddenly he was being pushed back into a small wardrobe, and sure enough there were footsteps heading their way. Percival backs himself further into the crowded wardrobe, but as Lancelot closed the door behind him, there was hardly any space.

"We could have taken them all out," Percival protested, as they arranged their bodies so that they weren’t bumping into each other everywhere.

"Too many," Lancelot whispered, "we should wait this out."

A handful of seconds later the door is knocked down as someone barges into the room, cursing in what Percival assumed was Mandarin, a small _click_ of the safety of a gun as the man surveyed the room. Lancelot was quiet, and though it was dark he could imagine the determined expression on the man’s face. Floorboards creaked as the man outside walked about and Percival steadied his breathing, focusing on---

"Percy," and the taller man was suddenly _right there_. "Is that a new cologne?"

They were now pressed from chest to knee as Lancelot hovered over him and _did he just smell him?_

"Lancelot," he hissed, bringing his hands up to the man’s strong arms to push him back.

"Shhh," Lancelot shushed him, breath warming the side of Percival’s neck. Breathing in deep, the taller man leaned in ever closer, his chest brushing against Percival’s and if Percival tilted his head a little to the side _it wasn’t him._ Then there was a commotion outside the hallway, and the man with the gun hurried to join his men, unaware of the agents in the wardrobe.

"Come on then, darling," Lancelot opened the door and Percival squinted as light filled his eyes, but there was no mistaking the smirk on Lancelot’s face.

 

"How is it that whenever I’m on mission with you, I’m being trapped in tight places?"

They are locked inside a collapsed building, both covered in plaster dust, Lancelot lying on the floor with a metal pillar pinning the lower half of his body to the ground and Percival sitting up right next to him. The comms are dead, and since they were in the basement when the bomb went off, Percival figures help won’t come anytime soon. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair and it comes out all bloody, but moves on to inspect the other man’s injuries.

"I like to think of it as a fairytale ending. You know, like a princess and her knight," Lancelot coughs, his eyes closed. "Two people get acquainted, dance around each other---in our case _forever_ , Percy, god---and find themselves in some sort of trouble, solve said trouble together and they kiss."

Lancelot now has his eyes opened and is watching him steadily. All the dust and blood only serves to make him look more handsome and Percival glares.

"I am not going to kiss you," he knows it’s a weak response but it’s the best he can manage under the circumstances.

The grin on the older man’s face only grew wider as he said, "Oh, but you want to."

And _god_ did he want to.

So he leans in. "I am not the princess," and Lancelot lifts his head a little to meet him halfway.

"Of course not. You are my knight in shining armor," Lancelot sighs into the kiss as if to say, _finally._


End file.
